


Electric Rain

by FHC_Lynn



Series: Broken Windows [28]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-02 00:25:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10933128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FHC_Lynn/pseuds/FHC_Lynn
Summary: The feeling was worth all the trouble to hide this little game of his.





	Electric Rain

Flirting with the subject, at least, remained within his scope. The seeping sensation could be explored, it could be pushed, it could be _enjoyed_ right to the edge of consciousness. So long as he retained enough mental function to refill his veins with the bucket’s contents before he actually lost consciousness, Prowl might indulge in his dream.

Hand hanging limp over the bucket between his pedes on the floor, every drop beading to fullness at the end of the hose shimmered iridescent blue. Each drop shivered with his weakening ventilations, wavered on the lip before disengaging and falling, falling, falling... It splashed into the collected pool, and the reactionary waves rippled outward. The leading edge crashed into the walls, trapped, and dissonantly mingled with the latecomers, disrupting them all. Traitors or deserters.

After cinching the clamp on his hose with the hand he had not opened up to perform this weird distortion of surgery on, Prowl reached down for the bucket. Every motion slow and calculated to not send him tumbling flat on his face, Prowl straightened. He did not look forward to returning his bled fluid to where it belonged. The _taste_ was vile. But he didn't have a choice.

_**Drip.** _

"The frag is _wrong_ with you?" Sideswipe's voice hissed in his audial. He had only that warning before the young warrior's hand connected with his shoulder and shoved him off balance. Well, not his only warning. The thread of air movement had registered on his sensory panels. But in this, too, he had a measure of control. He could assume the breath of motion had no connection to him. He could assume that in the Central Command Base, he was safe.

He could allow Sideswipe to shove him because it lay outside the possibility of immediate critical harm.

Sideswipe bore down on him; optics dark, vocalizer growling, hands raised. Still, his processor assessed the risk as low. He looked down to gather his datapad and the stack of flash programming sticks he had been taking to Ratchet. Sideswipe kicked his hands. A notice of pain slammed across his HUD, followed immediately by a damage report.

Prowl watched the fluid drip from his broken fingers. The first spattered, broke apart, and threw smaller droplets out in a radial pattern. The next smeared across the perfection of the first. Sideswipe's voice came as garbled distraction, ruining the silence of his own systems. Slowly, he tore his gaze away from the mess he created on the floor to stare at the sudden flush of concern in Sideswipe's face. He held back a sigh.

Now he could not play this game with Sideswipe again. Perhaps Sunstreaker's much more volatile temper would better suit?

_**Drip.** _

The meeting cleared, and Prowl stood up. He picked up his datapad and the flash sticks holding his reports. Behind him, he heard, "Prowl?"

Sensory panels swept up, high and pressing tight to his body, Prowl twisted to look over his shoulder. Optimus chuckled and, rudely familiar, put his hand on Prowl's wing. He lowered it so he could look into Prowl's optics as he sat in the chair Prowl had just stood from. "Old friend, you're so quiet, these days. And you rush off so fast. Can you spare me a minute?"

Prowl looked around at the empty table.

Optimus nudged Prowl to sit next to him. "Sit?"

"Here?" Reports and calculations flickered across his datapad, as he turned his attention to it.

"Yes." Optimus' optics sparkled with tired humor at him.

"I prefer to stand."

"Sit... Or stand. As you wish," Optimus sighed and rubbed his head. "I just need a friendly audial. It's... It's going to get rougher from here, and I know... I'm already tired."

Clutching his datapad tight to the ample curve of his chest plate, he looked on as Optimus poured the weight of his concerns and worries out onto Prowl's shoulders. The Prime never noticed the gradual sag of Prowl's wings. He believed the bland expression hid only dry wit.

That Prowl never touched the arm he would open again that night remained a point of pride.

_**Drip.** _

"It's all your fault, anyway!" The words echoed louder in Prowl's processor than the punch that crunched into his jaw. Prowl crumpled, not from shock, but his condition.

The blow itself really barely registered across a HUD flooded with fuel warnings. The bucket under his desk held nearly all of the energon he could safely bleed, and Bluestreak barging into his office had caused a sudden panic across his behavioral matrices. He had quickly pushed the bucket under his desk with a pede, then stood to come around his desk. Prowl had kept a hand on the slick, digital surface to keep himself upright. His stabilizers lacked enough fluid around them to properly maintain his balance without support.

On the floor, he looked up at Bluestreak's horrified shock with nothing at all coming to his processor. He picked himself up. Each move planned to keep him from meeting the floor a second time. He did not care that Bluestreak had voiced the thought in everyone's mind. Everything _was_ Prowl's fault. But no one would let him ignore this. No one would let him be numb. He would have to pretend an anger no longer part of his make up.

"You may visit Ironhide for your assigned punishment, Bluestreak. Perhaps next time you will think twice before assaulting an officer."

Fury drove the shock off Bluestreak's face. He stormed out of Prowl's office, and Prowl looked down at the smear of blue across the floor and desk he had been forced to hide with his slow climb to his pedes. Sighing again, he cinched the hose in his arm. Ending his little pleasure to clean his desk and the floor--hurt. He had so little to look forward to. He could not risk himself more than allowed on field maneuvers. He could not stray from the core group. Only extreme risk, isolated from the main body would get him the results he craved.

Results that he could never pursue.

_**Drip.** _

He had picked the corner out of consideration for the other party goers. The ones for whom attendance had not come as an order. His bucket sat alone and empty under his desk tonight, although he had planned to be with it all night. He stroked the inside of his left arm, tracing the fold of panel seam. Beneath he had the hose cinched down on the connections feeding his hand. Ready.

"Whoa, Prowl. Touching yourself and wearin' that look is a foul," Jazz laughed. Happy, warm, and full of himself and Wheeljack's special blend, the mech wrapped himself over Prowl's back, hanging over his sensory wings.

Fortunately, their receptiveness had been somewhat dulled of late. He would need to report to Ratchet for maintenance. But of everyone who might see and take away his one solace, the medic ranked highest on the list. Still, Jazz's warmth felt tauntingly good. Almost... Almost better than the creeping cold of his bleeding. Pushing at Jazz, Prowl growled, "Please remove yourself from my person."

"Wow, mech. Just bein' friendly--" Jazz laughed, easy and drunk, then slipped away. He faded into the crowd. As simple as waking. As many times as Prowl had watched the magic, he never understood.

_**Drip.** _

The ripples shone in the dimmed light of his office. Spreading outward, they only crashed into the walls. Each reflection slammed into the oncoming waves, disrupting the messages along the encircling path. Just one more beaded, shining drop to spill out of him. Every day he could make it happen. Just one more. 


End file.
